


Miami

by angelicaschuyler



Series: Where We Are, Where We Started [4]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Beach Sex, Grinding, M/M, Pool Sex, Possessive Behavior, Rough Kissing, Vacation, WWAWWSverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-10-11
Packaged: 2018-08-21 19:39:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8258051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelicaschuyler/pseuds/angelicaschuyler
Summary: Alex takes George to Miami for the first time. Set three years after "Where We Are, Where We Started."





	

**Author's Note:**

> a-schuyler.tumblr.com - we can chat there!

“I can’t believe you’ve never visited Miami,” Alex says after he first pitches the trip to George: South Beach, one week, a little condo right on the water. Mediterranean revival architecture, two bedrooms and a small, private pool. Simple, but very much needed after a frozen New York winter.

“I don’t really-” George starts. And then he stops, tightening his jaw. 

“You don’t really what?” Alex asks, grabbing his laptop and carrying it over to their bed. He sits next to George, nudges him with his knee. “Tell me.”

“You’ll just make fun.”

“Probably,” Alex agrees with a shrug, pulling up the condo rental website. It’s been three years; George knows him by now.

“It’s just not appealing,” George grumbles under his breath, leaning back against the headboard and looking at Alex. “What I’m saying is, if I wanted to vacation on the beach, I wouldn’t choose a place where I’m going to end up surrounded by a flock of underage college kids, trying to sneak vodka onto the beach in their water bottles-”

“You’re no fun,” Alex whines, snapping his laptop shut with a little huff. George looks at him warily, pulling a pillow into his lap, twisting the pillowcase in his hands. “So what? Are we just going to hole up somewhere on Denarau Island again? Where the only people you have to interact with are me and room service?”

“What’s wrong with that?” George asks. “It’s a vacation, we already live in a city. Is it so wrong to just want a little quiet?”

“I’m asking you to spend a week in Florida. A  _ week, _ ” Alex reminds him. “Not retire there, for Christ’s sake.”

George’s chest, clothed in the same cotton t-shirt he’s worn to bed all week, rises and falls with a heavy sigh. So Alex softens his resolve, decides to negotiate.

“You know how you’re always trying to sign us up for ballroom dancing without my consent?” He’d stood George up the first and last time it happened, sent Martha in his place as a joke that didn’t land as well as he’d hoped. “I’ll let you sign us up for a class in Miami for one night.”

George’s eyes light up. Alex can practically see the wheels turning in his head.

“ _ One night, _ ” Alex repeats. And then, under his breath, “Preferably earlier in the week so I’m not dreading it.”

“You’ll be in very capable hands,” George promises him, tapping the case of Alex’s laptop. “Let’s see that condo.”

 

—

 

As promised, they spend their first night in Miami dancing in a studio a couple blocks from the beach. George, always one step ahead of the rest of the class, effortlessly leads Alex through various mambos and salsas and cha-cha-chas. The steps are incredibly basic, and yet Alex still finds ways to trip and stumble over himself and, on occasion, George. He keeps his eyes on his feet and the top of George’s shoulder, pretending they’re not surrounded by other couples, avoiding his instructor’s skeptical look, trying to ignore the smiles he exchanges with George.

But by the end of the evening, sure enough, their instructor asks George to take the floor with him for a demo. 

“I could not help myself,” he jokes, pulling George away without so much as a glance at Alex.

Alex finds himself a little stunned (and irked) by how gracefully George moves without him there to drag him down. His eyes can’t help but follow where hands fall on hips, but he reminds himself it’s all part of the dance, and George himself seems a little sheepish about it, pecking Alex reassuringly on the lips when the demo ends.

“Federico was handsome,” Alex remarks later, when they’re showering for dinner. He brings it up like a comment about the weather.  _ Looks like we might get rain today. _ George lifts a shoulder in a shrug.

“Was he?” George asks, slathering the perfumey soap on his hands and spinning Alex around to wash his back. “I didn’t notice.”

Alex smiles down at the bubbles circling the drain, George’s hands moving lower on his hips.

 

—

 

Everyone is beautiful in Miami, but Alex already knew that. He hasn’t vacationed in the city since his early thirties, but nothing substantial has changed — just the styles. As they walk down Lincoln Road, he tries his best not to let his eyes wander to the crop-top clad women, men with muscled thighs in shorts. But he catches George staring at the curved ass of a man waiting for drinks at the crowded bar they’ve stepped into, still clad in a seemingly painted on red swimsuit that leaves very little to the imagination, and he doesn’t feel as bad. 

George blinks a couple times and looks away, staring blankly at the far wall. “My God.”

Alex bites his lip, holding back a laugh, and moves a little closer to George as they scan the sea of even, tanned skin and perfectly toned bodies.

“You want a mojito?” Alex yells over the old-as-dirt Ricky Martin song blasting over the speakers. 

George nods and Alex tilts his head toward red shorts with a grin.

“Stay out of trouble. I’ll be right back.”

He orders their drinks in Spanish, and that earns him the attention of a man standing next to him — he’s attractive in a cookie-cutter way, like everyone else here. Fairly close to Alex’s age, a remarkable body, head of thick black hair, dreamy brown eyes. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the man give him a blatant once-over before slapping his Visa on the counter.

“I have his drink.”

The bartender snatches up the card before Alex can decline the offer and the man turns, leaning against the bar to face him. Alex groans inwardly, pretends he doesn’t notice. There’s no room to move further down the crowded bar, and the bartender hasn’t even started mixing his first drink. 

“You a local?” the man purrs in fluent Spanish. “Or is this your first time in Miami?”

“Nope,” Alex says with what he hopes is obvious disinterest, craning his neck over his shoulder to look for George, towering over the rest of the crowd. But he’s not where he left him — must’ve located one of the metal high-top tables. 

“How long are you here for?” he asks, leaning in even closer as more people crowd the bar. So close Alex can smell booze, heavy on his breath. “My place is in Biscayne Point, not too far from here-”

“Wow,” Alex interjects, waving at the bartender frantically in a hopeless attempt to hurry him up. “I forgot how forward people are down here.”

Such gestures appealed to him back in college, when he was careless and quick to trust.  _ “I’m surprised you didn’t end up chopped up in someone’s basement,”  _ George had told him wearily after hearing about his undergrad exploits, to which Alex had replied that he, at least, spent his youth having  _ fun _ . But George had a point, he thinks, faced with the option a good twenty-plus years later. Now, there’s nothing really appealing about going home with a stranger who hasn’t even shared his first name.

“Well, aren’t you looking to have a good time?” the guy asks. It’s accusatory, and Alex knows how that works. Make it feel like he’s in the wrong for being such a stick-in-the-mud. “That is why most people come to Miami, after all.”

From behind, someone touches his lower back and Alex freezes, about to throw an elbow and abandon the drinks altogether. But then he smells George’s oaky cologne, feels a possessive, familiar hand squeeze his hip. The bartender sets down two fizzy mojitos, just in time.

“Hey, baby!” Alex says, voice going high, pushing up on his toes to peck the corner of George’s mouth. He passes him one of the mojitos, smiling when he sees the other man’s face drop. “This nice man bought our drinks.”

“I see that,” George says, his expression shifting from impassive to vaguely amused. He pointedly sets the drink back down on the bar and slips his hand into Alex’s.

“Thanks,” Alex says with a playful wink back at the man, leaving him behind, dejected, as George pulls him out of the crowd.

He doesn’t want this to turn into a whole thing, some kind of  _ “See, Alex? This wouldn’t happen in Fiji” _ talk. So he nips it in the bud and apologizes.

“He kind of had me cornered up there,” Alex says with a roll of his eyes, exaggerated annoyance. “Thanks for saving me.”

He’s met instead with a bruising kiss that still has hints of the Cuban coffee and tres leches cake they devoured after dinner, two hands gripping hard and low on his hips as George kisses him deep and hungry, kisses him in ways Alex is certain he’s never been kissed before, at least not in public. He feels almost dizzy when George pulls back, panting, eyes dark. It’s cold in the bar, but Alex can feel a warmth pooling in his stomach, circulating through his body. 

“You wanna get out of here?” Alex asks, breathless. No one really looks at them twice, but Alex still loves it. Wants them all to know who he belongs to.

“I do,” George says in a growl, pulling him closer. 

“How do you feel about the beach?”

 

—

 

“OK,” Alex says, staring up at the clouds in the night sky, his back, ass and thighs already coated with sand. He shifts, tries to get a little more comfortable but instead drops his shoulder on something sharp, a shell or rock. “I don’t think this is going to happen.”

“It’s not very comfortable,” George agrees from where he’s kneeling between Alex’s spread thighs, squinting across the stretch of sand, then back at the beach entrance. “And it’s illegal.”

“Mood officially killed,” Alex sighs. They hadn’t thought it through, anyway — no blankets, no lube. George rests a palm on the inside of his thigh, Alex swats him away. “Please don’t touch me with sand all over your hands.”

“I could suck you off,” George offers uncertainly, wrinkling his nose and wiping the sand from his palm onto his own leg. “But I think there are police patrolling this beach? We can’t get arrested.”

“Enough with the dirty talk,” Alex groans, twisting away when the waves crash back onto the sand, the surf tickling his ear, soaking his arm. “How about we just don’t touch each other until we wash off. Can you grab my shirt and help me up?”

They clean off while knee-deep in the dark water, George splashing seawater onto his own legs and washing off his hands before helping Alex brush the sand off his backside and thighs.

“That’s hopefully most of it. But you should probably shower before we do any…” George trails off, waving a hand at Alex’s ass.

“I’ve never been more attracted to you,” Alex grins, shrieking with laughter when George swipes the water with a hand, soaking him. 

 

—

 

It’s a short walk back to the condo but the nighttime air is thick and humid. By the time they’ve reached the patio George’s forehead is shining and Alex can feel the sweat in his own armpits, soaking through his shirt. He’s unlocking the glass doors, eager to step back into a room with central air when George pauses by the pool, kicking off his shoes and peeling off his shirt.

“What are you doing?” 

“Getting in the water,” George says, rolling down his shorts, and even after all this time, Alex is still in awe of him. The dark, muscled thighs, the broad chest he’s buried himself in countless times, the graying hair growing just below his bellybutton he’ll comb his fingers through on the rare nights they climb into bed at the same time. 

George slips into the water carefully, treading water in the deep end while Alex strips off his own clothes, leaving the keys abandoned on the table. George watches, silent, until Alex sits on the edge of the pool, moving to slide in.

“Wait,” he says, swimming to Alex’s side of the pool. Alex keeps his knees closed, makes George work for it, grinning when George eagerly spreads him out and hooks his legs over his shoulders, dragging him a little closer to the edge.

“You let someone else buy your drink tonight,” George says, fingers digging into the meat of his ass. A jolt of pleasure goes straight to Alex’s cock, he arches his back, a sharp gasp.

“Mhmm,” Alex hums, heart pounding. “Maybe he would’ve found a way to fuck me on the beach without getting sand up my ass.”

George arches an eyebrow. “Well, I’m sure that guy in the red trunks can hold himself up on all fours for longer than five minutes.”

“That makes sense. I mean, most twenty-four-year-olds don’t want to look at the geriatrics they’re screwing to pay off their student loans.”

George presses his cheek against Alex’s thigh, laughing. “Ouch.”

“You can make me pay for that one later,” Alex offers. George grins up at him, eyes twinkling. Alex feels his stomach drop. “Do  _ not- _ ”

But it’s too late — in one swift movement, George yanks him off the edge of the pool, into the water, far chillier than he expected. He gets a mouthful of it and emerges, sputtering, pushing back his tangled hair. George chuckles while he blinks the water out of his eyes.

“You deserved that.” There are hands on his waist, pushing him back toward the side of the pool. His vision refocuses on George as soon as his back hits the concrete edge. A thigh wedges itself between his legs and Alex’s breath catches in his throat, his heart racing from the thrill. George has him pinned.

They kiss like they kissed at the bar — like animals, dirty and possessive, George pressing his thigh up higher, letting Alex rub against him. It’s difficult in the water, hard to find a rhythm, but it’s George’s mouth on his that keeps him going.

“Tell me I’m the only one you want,” George growls. Nips on his bottom lip, tugs with his teeth until Alex lets out a high whine. “The only one who gets to do this to you.”

“Just you,” Alex promises, digging his hips down to catch a wave of pleasure that leaves too soon. He curses into George’s shoulder, digging his fingertips into his arm. “Fuck, baby, I don’t know if I can in here.”

“Shh,” George blows in his ear, and Alex makes a garbled sound he’s not proud of. 

George lifts his thigh, just slightly, and Alex moves faster, wrapping his arms around him, pushing his face into his neck to muffle the noises slipping from his lips. 

“There are so many beautiful men here,” George mutters, pressing an almost chaste kiss onto Alex’s cheekbone. “But I doubt any of them look as pretty as you do when you come.”

 

—

 

He’s drifting in and out of sleep when George steps back into the bedroom, setting a glass of water and a little plate of sliced fruit on the nightstand. 

“We didn’t quite get around to a full dinner, did we?” George says, plucking a mango slice off the plate and taking a bite. Alex scoots over to make room on the bed. His hair, still damp from the shower, leaves behind a wet spot on the pillowcase.

“Come to bed,” he yawns, stretching out an inviting arm. “We can eat in the morning.”

George doesn’t need much persuading. He slips under the duvet and Alex immediately rolls back over, attaching himself to George’s side. They have an entire California king to themselves, but it doesn’t matter. Too frequently, Alex has found himself quietly climbing into bed long after George has drifted off, careful not to kick or disturb him. Between the kids and work, it’s been so long since they’ve had a night solely to themselves. 

“I had fun today,” Alex says, snuggling in closer and dropping his head on George’s chest. George’s hand finds its way into his hair, scratching his scalp.

“Even with the dancing, the beach…?”

“Even with all of that,” Alex says. He squeezes George’s upper arm and lifts his head to look at him. “It was fun. Watching you get your feathers ruffled…”

“Well, I thought maybe the bar needed a reminder of who you walked in with,” George whispers, kissing the shell of his ear.

“Remind me again?” 

George rolls them over, lowering himself heavily onto Alex, kissing up the column of his neck, along the curve of his jaw before Alex captures his lips — George tastes sweet from the mango, just a hint of peppermint toothpaste, the lavender soap from the shower replacing the mix of seawater and chlorine. The kiss is lazy. Sweet. So different from the one they shared in the beachfront bar. But the way it makes him feel remains the same — he’s George’s, George is his. He doesn’t want it any other way.

He slips a hand under the waistband of George’s shorts, thinks he might be ready for a second round, and then — a loud buzz, his phone lights up on the bedside table. George grabs it blindly, lips trailing down Alex’s neck.

“Who the hell is calling?” Alex demands, snatching his phone out of George’s hand. His heart leaps in his chest when he sees Angie’s name flash on the caller ID, but it’s just a request to FaceTime. He turns the screen to show George. “The kids want to video chat. We’ll just tell them we went dancing, had a nice dinner, the early flight was exhausting, we decided to call it a night.”

George’s face lights up with a grin so contagious Alex is biting back his own while he smooths out his hair. 

“Do I look OK?” Alex asks, sitting up to try and catch his reflection in the mirror mounted over the dresser. “Should we do this from the couch?”

George keeps smiling, warm. “They know we share a bed. They’ve caught onto that, I think.”

He takes the phone from Alex and accepts the call. 


End file.
